


The Gift

by indyluckycharlie



Series: The Series [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Swearing, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28744230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indyluckycharlie/pseuds/indyluckycharlie
Summary: If you give him a chance to tease you, he’ll take it. (Set during the winter holiday season, roughly six months after The Job, the first part in this series.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: The Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107335
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> So…this was my first smutty fic! 🙈 Forgive me for my cheesy Santa puns. 
> 
> A note on the sex toy because apparently it is not something everyone has heard of (I very seriously considered adding a product link but I could not bring myself to do it), it is wearable and can be used during sex. Just adding this tidbit so that it makes sense in the story. This is also a submission for the star-spangled-bingo 2020 challenge on Tumblr to fill the square “Laughing during sex.”
> 
> Thanks for reading, I'd love to hear what you think!

* * *

"I got you a present." You peek over his shoulder as he adjusts his tie. He cocks a curious eyebrow at you in the mirror. 

"Oh?" He turns. As he scans you appreciatively, he reaches around to the back of your dress and gives the knotted ribbon there a playful tug. "I thought we agreed to open our 'presents' later."

Tonight is the night of the annual holiday party. It also happens to be exactly six months since the two of you started this little “endeavor”. You'll both be at the party of course, but you won't attend together, that isn't the deal. You will however have your own private celebration later. 

With a “tsk”, you swat his hand from the knot at your lower back before he can loosen it. "Now, now, I _will_ let you unwrap me later, but _this_ present is for the party." 

Cupping his hand in your own, you bring it to chest level and lay a small black box in his palm. He flicks curious eyes up briefly before returning his attention to the box. He tugs on the shiny gold ribbon and lets it fall to the floor. You roll your eyes when he, with a show of excessive reverence, delicately pulls the lid off. 

His brow furrows in confusion when he sees what’s inside.

“A remote?” The furrow deepens. “I don’t get it. How am I going to use a remote at the party? Is this for one of those ‘smart’ TV thingies?”

You chuckle lightly. “No. Let me show you.” You pause, holding up a finger. “ _But_ before I do, you need to promise me that if you use it, you’ll finish what you start.” 

He narrows his eyes unsure. “Okay…”

“Not ‘okay.’ Say ‘I promise.’” You give a look of mock sternness.

He chuckles, “Okay, I promise.”

Pleased, you smile. “Good, now,” you take the box from his hand. You remove the remote from the package, hand it back and toss the box to the side. You then gather the front of your dress in one hand, while reaching for his with your other. He needs little urging as you guide him up the smooth skin of your inner thigh. 

As his hand finally reaches the silky covering at the apex of your thighs, he's surprised to find something firm and smooth. 

Confused, he asks, "What is that?"

You nod your head at the remote in his hand. "Press that button and see."

Looking down, he presses his thumb against the small raised bump you indicate. His head jerks up abruptly when he feels a slight vibration against his fingers at the exact moment that you breathe in a sharp breath. 

His eyes go wide, then dark as hunger creeps in. His lips curve impishly, your own smile mirrors his. 

With a raised eyebrow, you drop his hand and your skirt, then turn and stride towards the door. Just before you exit, he calls out.

“What’s the range?” 

You stop, glancing back over your shoulder. “About twenty feet or so.”

He licks his lips and nods his head. As you slip out the door, you see him slide the remote into his pocket. 

\----

Not one to have ever felt compelled to engage in immature- and decidedly macho- contests that required one to show off their talents through childish feats of strength, you have never before had reason to wonder if you might be able to crush a metal cup in your hand. Yet, here you are, grasping the tumbler your Moscow Mule came in so hard that you find yourself wondering about the tensile strength of copper. Or you would be wondering about it, if your brain was functioning enough to spare the mental energy required to do so. Instead, the full force of your brain power is focused on one thought: keeping your knees from giving out and your mouth firmly closed. Because if you don’t, you’re likely to put on a visual and _exceedingly_ auditory display that will rival any in the annals of office holiday party lore.

Just when you’re sure you can’t hold out anymore, the fluctuating waves of vibration cut off abruptly. Tension leaves your body so abruptly that a hard breath escapes you unexpectedly, loud enough that the data analyst you’ve been talking to looks at you askance. You force a fake coughing fit, claiming to have choked on your own spittle. You turn away before she can notice any further awkwardness, and you immediately catch Barnes watching you.

The smug look on his face has you narrowing your eyes. You lift your chin in response to the deepening of his smirk, averting your gaze as you walk away. His low chuckle trails behind you, and you have to press down on your lips to suppress your own laugh. That is, until he gives a quick flick of the remote that nearly makes you trip over your own feet. This time, the glare you give him has real heat behind it. He at least, has the decency to pretend to be chagrined.

You continue to make your way across the room. As you slip away from the main lounge searching for a private place to catch a moment of quiet respite, you wonder- for what must be the hundredth time this evening- if this was your best plan ever or the worst idea you’ve ever had. 

Barnes, with his penchant for mischief, has certainly made thorough use of the gift you’ve given him, even more adeptly than you had expected. 

The first time, you did not see it coming _at all,_ and as a result, you were completely struck dumb.

You’d already been at the party for at least twenty minutes with no sign of him. You were leaning over the bar, chatting with Sam as he mixed what he promised would be your best drink of the night, while the displaced and disgruntled bartender glowered on. Mid reply to some funny quip of Sam’s and it hit you. Your words stuck in your throat, as your eyes widened and your stomach went concave. 

So abrupt was the shift in your demeanor that Sam stopped what he was doing to give you a confused look. 

“You okay there?”

“Uh…” came out on a strangled breath, as the vibration continued to flow uninterrupted. Bucky was clearly coming in strong, with no intention of taking it easy on you. “I-uh-I’ll be back, I’ve got to-” you managed to squeak out, as you hastily backed up from the bar. You weren’t quite sure where you’d go, but you knew you needed to get away. 

Before you could think where and as quickly as it had started, the sensation cut off. Blessedly quick to regain your senses, you scanned the crowd looking for your tormenter. There, at the far end of the bar, he stood, leaning casually against the edge, chatting with Steve as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As you watched, he surreptitiously flicked his eyes in your direction, then slowly lifted his glass to you and winked.

Provoked by his cool demeanor and annoyed at how easily you let yourself be caught off guard, you resolved to not let yourself be quite so affected again. Still, despite your increased mettle, you found yourself on several occasions clutching unexpectedly to whatever object was nearest you or faking a laughing fit to cover involuntary gasps and moans. Once you were even overcome with genuine laughter when he took advantage of an irresistible opportunity to flick the device on and off in sync with _Jingle Bells,_ as it blared across the speakers. 

Even your best efforts did not stave off confused and concerned looks from friends and acquaintances. The best you could do when asked if you were alright was to shrug and come up with some lame excuse, before bolting off if it became too awkward or your friends too skeptical, laughing to yourself as you go.

The only time you were really able to let go was on the dance floor. There you could allow yourself the indulgence of giving into the sensation as you let your head fall back and your body sway. And if you danced a little more provocatively than usual, with your hands sliding languidly across your hips or down the length of your smooth throat, who would notice in the crush of alcohol laden dancers? Who, but him? 

As the night wore on and you found the effects of the toy lingering longer and longer each time, and yourself increasingly flushed with excitement, it became harder and harder to not drag him from the party to somewhere more private. But you refused to be the first to make a move, resolving instead to make him come to you. As much as he knew exactly the effect his ministrations were having on you, you could just as easily see the effect the game was having on him. You could see it in the heated looks from across the room, the swallow of his throat, the working of his jaw. Once, when making your way off of the dance floor, you brushed lightly past him and could practically feel the waves of barely-contained desire rolling off of him. 

Now, as you make your way from the lounge, you let your thoughts linger on how expertly he’s mastered the device and your body with it. To both your great relief and ceaseless frustration, he repeatedly cuts the toy off just before the heat and building sensation can reach their full potential. With an instinct born from countless late night hours, as well as a few stolen from the day, he seems to know, every time, without fail, exactly the moment when you’re about to fall headlong over the precipice without any real hope of return. And while you’re grateful to not have the embarrassing experience of orgasming uncontrollably in a room full of your co-workers and friends, you’re not quite sure your sanity is going to last the night if you don’t get some real relief soon. But it's worth it because he will, just like always, make good on the promise he made. 

As soon as you have ventured what you deem to be a safe distance away from the party, you let yourself slump against the wall in a side hallway. Though the device is off, it’s effects remain. Safely out of sight, you let yourself bask in the heat and excited tremors that linger in your body.

This is how he finds you, head tilted back and eyes closed, your chest rising and falling in a heavy, measured rhythm. 

"Hey there." He calls softly, his lips curving smugly. 

You crack your eyes open just enough to glance at him sideways, before tilting your head back against the wall and letting them close again. You don’t bother to suppress your own pleased smile. "You know, I’m sure everyone thinks I'm drunk."

His laugh is husky. “I wonder why they’d think that.”

“I certainly can’t think of any good reason.” 

He smiles, though you don’t see it. He comes to stand before you, placing his feet on either side of yours. At this distance, you feel the heat rising off of his body. He doesn’t touch, not yet. He simply lets his eyes skate across the length of your body, taking in your overwarm cheeks, the light glistening of sweat across your breastbone, the fluttering of your pulse. 

His own pulse quickens as he reaches his hand into his pocket once again. He flicks the button on the remote lightly and is rewarded with a deep moan. Your hips lift away from the wall just enough to brush against his before he flicks the button again and you fall back breathing heavily. 

Leaving the remote in his pocket, he reaches for your hips, holding them lightly. When you open your eyes again, you see that his eyes have gone impossibly dark and his smile is wolfish. _The better to eat you with,_ it says, and oh, do you want to be devoured. 

As he steps closer, he gently nudges your chin with his nose, urging you to tilt your head back. When you eagerly do so, he brings his mouth to the curve just below your ear but does not make contact. Instead, he breathes, warm and heady against your skin, setting your nerves alight. Careful not to touch, he traces a line in heated breath all the way down the curve of your throat, pausing to linger at the hollow. By now you're practically panting, biting your lip back on the accusation threatening to slip out: _Tease_. But if you say it, he might stop and you’re not sure what will become of you then. 

Sensing your dilemma, he chuckles against your collarbone. Drawing back, he brings his hands to your arms, runs his lightly down the length of them before slowly pulling you away from the wall. Slack-limbed and willing, you let him guide you without question down the hall to one of the empty conference rooms. Without speaking, he pulls you into the room, then gently nudges you towards the table before turning to secure the door. 

Once it is closed, any semblance of his own composure is lost. His hands grasp feverishly at your waist, and he presses the length of his body against yours as he pushes you rapidly back to the table. You eagerly welcome him as he crushes his mouth against your lips. His tie comes undone in your hands and his shirt soon follows. Desperate for the feel of smooth skin, he pushes your long skirt up your thighs. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, he pulls them down. In his impatience, they tear in his hands. He grimaces apologetically, as you laugh at his enthusiasm. 

You quickly pull him back by his belt, making short work of it as he lifts you onto the edge of the table. You free him from the confines of his pants before you pull him down with you to the table where you lay, poised and desperate for contact. 

But just when you’re sure that your suffering will finally be over, he pauses. Indignant, you scowl at him before your breath is stolen in a half strangled gasp that turns into cascading laughter. 

_That damned remote!_ _When did he even slip his hand back in his pocket?!_ As you laugh and squirm on the end of his hook, he smiles wide with self-satisfaction until with one swift motion, he’s inside of you and your breath cuts off again. 

With eyes squeezed tight and breath held, you savor the feeling for a moment. But not for long. Between the continuous vibration and him buried deep inside of you, you are so close, you're desperate for him to start moving. 

But he doesn’t. This time your annoyance rises in earnest. You’re definitely _done_ being teased. You’re just about to tell him off when you snap your eyes open and see the look on his face. 

A breathy laugh escapes you. 

“You alright there, champ?”

His wides are wide with shock and his mouth is parted. “I- I had - no idea...”

Your chuckle stutters out as you attempt to control your breathing. “Never played with toys before, eh?”

He shakes his head mutely.

Caught between amusement and desperation, you pull him closer by the neck. “Well if you’re game, we can experiment more later. But right now, I’m about to lose it, and I need you to start moving. _Now_.”

Blinking back to attention, he nods and obeys without question. He pulls back and then snaps his hips forward. You let your head fall back to the table and wrap your legs around his waist, as he sets a fevered pace, his own excitement matching yours.

As he buries his face against your chest and covers your skin with nips and kisses, he brings his hands from your hips to your arms and pushes them up over your head. Your fingers, desperate for anything to hold onto, grasp the edge of the table. Instinctively, you pull your arms taut as you arch your hips up to meet his, and dig your heels into his soft flesh.

A half-groaned curse escapes his lips against your breast as he's driven deeper. A string of similarly complimentary expletives follow and if you could hear them, you'd laugh. His language often tends to turn "colorful" in moments such as these. 

As it is though, his adulations are drowned out by the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears and the lightning that runs through your every nerve and vein. 

Every moan and whimper you’ve held back over the course of the night comes pouring out of you now. So scandalous are the sounds you make that you might be embarrassed, except that his own gasps and cries perfectly match your own.

All night, he’s had you delicately balanced on the edge, so close to that perfect release that you were sure all it would take was the strike of a single match to set everything ablaze. But now, instead of falling over that edge, you find the heat in you continuing to build impossibly high, until you’re sure you’re about to completely lose control. And yet, though you’ve been desperate for release all night, for a heartbeat, you hesitate. Never before has anticipation ever felt so perfect, and you desperately want to cling to the sensation for just a moment more before crashing headlong over. 

That is, until you don’t. 

A slight tilt of hips, the perfect heated press and suddenly you’re overcome in a wild and heady rush. Though your thighs tighten so forcefully around him that you'd think it would be impossible, he somehow is able to keep moving just enough and that first rush is quickly followed by another, and then another, until pleasure cascades through you in waves. 

Just a moment more, and he too comes undone inside of you, shuddering to stillness before collapsing completely against you. 

Harsh breaths fill the air and for a long time, neither of you moves, save for the rapid involuntary expansion of your lungs. At some point- you're not sure when- he'd managed to turn the toy off. . 

Several long minutes tick by. As if in a daze, you float your hand down to his head to scratch your fingers lightly against his scalp. He growls softly in reply. Gingerly, he pushes himself up on wobbly limbs to relieve the pressure on your hips and lungs. 

Spent, he lets his head hang limply above you. When you finally open your eyes, you take smug satisfaction in seeing that a slight tremor runs through his shoulders. 

“I don’t think I said this before,” he lifts his eyes to meet yours; his voice is raspy and worn “but thank you for the present.”

“You’re welcome.” You press smiling lips to his. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Oh, I did.” He returns your kiss lightly, then traces small kisses down your chin and jaw to just below your ear. “So... you said you have other...toys?”

Your mouth quirks up at the corner. “Oh yes. In fact...” you let your words hang in the air, until he pulls back to look at you, brow wrinkled in question. “...you could even call me _Santa Claus_.”

His brows shoot up, and he snorts a laugh. 

“Lame,” he says flatly. 

You click your tongue and your mouth drops open in mock indignation.

Shaking his head with a smile, he leans back, pulling you up with him. Once you’re standing, he helps you readjust your dress. You tug his pants back up to his waist and button them, before reaching to do the same with his shirt. 

“Actually,” he cocks his head thoughtfully, “shouldn’t you call _me_ Santa?”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“You know,” he reaches down to lightly run the back of his fingers up your inner thigh, “since I’m the one _coming_ down your chimney?” 

Your head falls back as you laugh. With a lingering smile, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. “Well then, _Santa Baby_ , what do you say we make our goodbyes at the party and slip back upstairs?”

“Sounds good to me darlin’.”

You cock a playful brow at him. “ _And_ if you grab some milk and cookies on the way, I’ll even let you fill my stocking.”

This time he groans in earnest as you laugh at your own cheesiness. He pulls you with him out the door. In the hall, he lets you get a step ahead of him. But just before you come to the end of the long hallway that opens back out to the party, he tugs lightly on the long ties at the back of your dress. Gently, as to not pull them loose, but enough to make you stop and turn back to him. 

He kisses your bare shoulder, then presses a soft kiss to your lips. Before he slips back out and into the crowd, he leans over to whisper in your ear.

“Just in case you don’t already know, the only thing on my Christmas list is you.”

  
  
  



End file.
